Ever in Your Favor
by ChristyRae75
Summary: MOVIE-VERSE Katniss had never thought about men but she finds herself drawn to the one who holds her fate in his hands. A life of ruthlessness has led Seneca Crane to the pinnacle of power. Will his fascination w/Katniss destroy his life or save his soul?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: So, this is based on the movie, not the book. It's also a WIP which I've never done before so bear with me. It's a WIP because I actually need to go see the movie again to make sure I get the details right. Writing a fic was the LAST thing I had on my mind when I saw it the first time. I haven't written fanfic in 10 years but there was a certain look on Seneca's face in the film in regards to Katniss that stunned me and this story would not stop writing itself in my head all day and all night. I hope you enjoy it. Updates coming soon.**

Katniss couldn't sleep. Who could in her situation? It wasn't the frantic hypothesizing of her mind imagining all the different scenarios she would soon be facing and how she might fight for her life that robbed her of sleep. That's what she imagined Peeta did when he tried to rest. She could practically smell his desperation. She didn't feel contempt for Peeta but neither would she ever allow herself to appear frantic and weak. It didn't matter what she felt inside. None of these people would see it, not as long as she could control it, not when it was the only thing she could control. Besides, she actually felt calm. No, not calm. Numb was more accurate but she made it look like calm. She would cling to her dignity for as long as possible. What she saw when she closed her eyes to sleep, Prim reaching for her at the reaping, equal parts terror and relief on her face, and her mother, dead behind the eyes, frozen in a battered wooden chair from which she refused to rise for days at a time, these images threatened to rob her of that dignity so she found other ways to occupy the night.

On this night she turned on the video screen. She could not allow herself the comfort of the forest scene. It would make her remember Gale and their moments of stolen freedom and him tempting her to run away. She had to forget everything except the need to return to her sister. She had room in her mind for that one thought only. She saw other scenes that meant nothing to her, places she had never been and would never see. If she survived she would return to District 12 and live out her life amid coal dust and clapboard houses. It did no good to look at things she would never see firsthand. A dream was just one more thing to mourn when it died so it was better if it was never born.

She eventually stopped on a channel showing 24 hours of games coverage. She watched as her own image from the reaping was replayed for entertainment. The stoic, resigned faces of her people were not intrigued by the scene she made when she sacrificed herself for Prim. There was no excitement, no empathy or sadness, just the weary acceptance of people too used to sending their children off to die either in the games or the mines. It hardly mattered which. The inset screen showed the reaction of a live audience watching in the Capitol as they drank and laughed and ate food the other Districts didn't even know existed. Their avaricious amusement disgusted her as much as their bizarre, colorful but tasteless clothes and hair.

She was about to turn it off when they cut to Caesar Flickerman doing a play by play commentary and talking with another man. She was struck by the other man's comparatively austere appearance next to Flickerman and every other resident of the Capitol she'd seen. He wore no glittering make-up, no false eyelashes or beauty marks. His clothes were practically monastic in this city of fops and buffoons. She supposed he had no need for outrageous artifice when his naturally night black hair highlighted his cool blue eyes making them glow like a piece of blue glass lit from behind. His only nod to extreme fashion was the intricate beard that decorated his face. It's design reminded her of the swords she knew she and the other tributes would be practicing with tomorrow, some of them so wickedly curved her blood ran cold just remembering them from previous games, imagining the wounds they could inflict. The screen flashed his name, Seneca Crane, Gamemaker, and she wondered what wounds _he_ would inflict before her trials were over. He was arrogant and spoke of her offering herself as tribute in her sister's place as though he supposed some people might find it interesting but in truth it bored him. The sinister intensity she saw in his eyes belied his tone and filled her with unease and defiance. So, he thought her nothing more than a footnote in the annals of the 74th Hunger Games did he? Her anger grew hot and her breathing heavy as her heart beat hard and fast. Her lip curled as she stared at his eyes no longer hearing what he was saying. If she did nothing else before she died, she would make Seneca Crane pay attention to his game pieces and see them as people, pay attention to her.

Finally, the screen cut to the procession wiping his cold blue eyes from her vision. She turned the video screen off in disgust and only then realized how agitated she had become. Seneca Crane...she couldn't stop thinking his name. He would control the game, her, like a puppetmaster. She was angry with herself because for a short moment when she'd first seen his face, before she knew who he was, she'd thought him handsome. She had never been given to such girlish thoughts before. She'd never had the time nor the inclination to think about men that way. Life was keeping her mother and sister from starving. The whispers and rumors already spreading like wildfire about what was between she and Peeta as a result of the show they put on during the opening ceremonies had obviously infiltrated her mind. That was the only explanation. It made her think things she would never bother with otherwise. For that one brief moment she had looked at Seneca Crane and thought he was the type of man she might be attracted to if she ever allowed herself to feel such a thing. The boys she knew were just that, boys. Gale was like a brother and she could never think of him any other way. Peeta was … _young_. They were the same age and yet she looked at Peeta and felt so much older. Seneca Crane stirred something in her that she'd never felt before and she hated herself for feeling it for him. Disgusted with herself, Katniss went back to bed. This time when she closed her eyes she was able to sleep but she did not rest. She was pursued relentlessly through a dream forest by a great black cat with chilling blue eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Another sleepless night spent pacing his penthouse apartment had Seneca Crane doing what he never did, indulging in introspection. It was a dangerous occupation for a man who lived his life the way he did. When you live for nothing and no one but yourself and getting what you want no matter the cost, introspection could only lead down unwanted avenues to feelings he had cut off as liabilities long ago. But he hadn't had any sleep since the reaping and he couldn't avoid the reason why any longer. It was the tribute from District 12, the girl. Despite his best efforts to stamp out the feelings her sacrifice evoked in him, he was drawn to her. She fascinated him. She was becoming an obsession he could ill afford.

It wasn't anything as trite as her beauty that ate at him, though he supposed she had that despite her too thin, too pale appearance that was the hallmark of tributes from the poorest Districts. Her eyes were especially striking. Too old for her age but defiant. He'd heard someone say her eyes had a spark and then laugh at what they considered a clever pun about "the girl who was on fire." But he saw no spark. The fire Cinna had clothed her in was actually cold after all. And that's what he saw in her eyes, cold determination and soul-deep resignation. She was prepared to do what was necessary to survive though he knew she really had no idea what would become necessary. He knew...better than anyone.

He scoffed at himself in disgust, ceased pacing and slammed his hands down on his glass and marble drink cart. The jarring motion allowed him to stop his thoughts from wandering any further down that alley to the past. Introspection was one thing, he thought as he poured himself a glass of bourbon. Self-flagellation over violence he'd had no choice but to commit all those years ago was another and he definitely would not indulge that tonight. He swirled the amber liquor in his glass and walked to the wall of windows looking out across the Capitol at the building that housed the tributes. So it wasn't her beauty that had disturbed his equilibrium. No, it was her automatic and unflinching acceptance of her own death in the place of her young sister. When she had volunteered to take the 12 year old's place, a part of himself he thought long dead had pushed and shoved in rebellion forcing him to make a place for her in his psyche and he could not exorcise her now no matter how hard he tried.

Seneca caught sight of his reflection in the window and stared for a moment trying to see any trace of the 12 year old boy he'd once been. Seeing nothing he curled his lip in sick amusement at his own pathetic weakness and gulped his drink in one burning swallow. He wandered over to the bar and refilled his glass. Maybe he would eventually drink enough to pass out and end this search for understanding. He laughed derisively at himself. This was all her fault. All his scheming and dissembling, his bowing and scraping, 20 years of pretending to be the dumb but ambitious animal President Snow thought he was and he'd never questioned any of it before now. He was exactly where he always wanted to be and he could not revel in it as he'd always intended because some piece of trash girl from District 12 made him remember. She made him yearn like he was once again that scrawny, dirty boy who turned twelve on the day of the reaping.

When he had watched her take her sister's place he had been violently transported back to that day when his name was called, when no one had backed away from him because no one knew who he was, an orphan boy living on the margins of a marginal society. He had no memory of a life before the District home he lived in. No memory of a mother or father or older sibling who might once have been his protector. On that reaping day he'd had no one to sacrifice themselves for him though he'd screwed his eyes shut so tightly and wished with every fiber of his too-small being. He'd had no choice but to walk to the dais his eyes wide with fear taking in the pitying looks of the other children. As he tripped his way up the steps, the announcer informed the TV audience gleefully that he was the youngest tribute ever chosen in the history of the Games.

They'd given him three minutes he didn't need to say goodbye to the people who loved him. There weren't any. Instead he'd used those three minutes to say goodbye to the part of him that had foolishly thought in that moment after his name was called that someone might step forward, if not to save him, then to mourn him. In those three minutes he ruthlessly cut out that part of him that had made up dreams to comfort him throughout the days and nights of his utterly lonely life. He hated that part of him that caused him to hope and so he killed it. When he walked out of that room that day he did leave someone behind, the twelve year old boy who desperately wanted a connection to another human being and who had never been anything but disappointed.

Staring out into the night, Seneca now realized his best efforts had been in vain. That boy hadn't been left behind after all. That boy had let Katniss Everdeen into his psyche and refused to let her go.

When he noticed that he had finished a third glass of strong liquor without remembering his trip to the bar and back, he knew it wouldn't be long before he passed out and he was glad. He felt like a raw nerve that had been plucked repeatedly. He missed the emptiness of not caring and not remembering.

His eyes searched the skyline for something. His drink-clouded mind couldn't remember what. Oh yes, there, a light on in an apartment across the city. Could it be her he wondered. It was the building that housed the tributes and it was the penthouse which he knew had been assigned to District 12. Was she awake? What was she thinking? What was she doing at this very moment? It suddenly hit him what he was doing and he turned away in disgust. This could not continue. He had to get her out of his system. He was risking everything he'd debased himself to attain these past 20 years for a girl who would no doubt turn out to be a scared and empty doll like all the others.

As soon as the reaping was completed he'd begun making questionable use of his power as head gamemaker. He'd already pulled strings to have Cinna assigned as her stylist because he knew he would give her the best chance of gaining the attention of sponsors who could save her life. He'd begun rigging things in her favor before he realized it or knew why. Now he knew. He had created something in his mind that she couldn't possibly live up to. He had to convince that affection starved boy inside him that she would fail to be what he hoped just like everyone else. Otherwise, he might go too far. If President Snow found out he would not hesitate to have Seneca put down like the animal he never failed to remind him he was.

Seneca had never indulged in the tradition of sponsors and games officials who availed themselves of the not so secret secret system of tributes exchanging sexual favors for advantages in the games. His charm and appearance meant women were always available and he'd never wanted to get that close to a reminder of where he'd come from. But he was growing desperate in his need to drive these thoughts of her away. If he could just see her, speak to her, use her and then throw her away, he was certain she would be revealed to be just an ordinary girl, the trash from District 12 that she should have been.

He was resolved then. He took a deep, cleansing breath and turned away from the light in the apartment across the way. Tomorrow he would talk to Haymitch and arrange a meeting after her first group training session. He would be rid of her and rid of these feelings and able to carry on unburdened, enjoying, finally, his status as citizen of the Capitol, Gamemaker of the 74th Hunger Games, no past to haunt him or hold him hostage ever again.

***Author's Note: As you may have figured out, I've made Seneca about 32 years old here. Katniss, according to the book, is 16. If that bothers you, you will not want to read any further.**


	3. Chapter 3

Haymitch knew it was going to be a bad day. He knew this because good days never began with calls from the Head Gamemaker before breakfast. He swore and tried not to vomit as he rolled over in bed trying to find the button that would stop the high-pitched automated female voice that repeatedly chirped, "Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane calling. Please respond." in that awful Capitol accent. The voice made Effie Trinket sound sultry.

He finally stumbled upon the correct button on the bedside console and croaked out a gravelly, "Haymitch" in response to the call. Thankfully it was just a voice com and not video because if he looked like he felt, and he was sure he did, it was rough.

"Good morning, Haymitch. Seneca Crane here. I have urgent business to discuss with you. Shall I assume that I've awakened you from a drunken stupor and you need a few minutes to compose yourself?"

Haymitch snarled silently at Crane's condescending and oily tone until he realized that it hurt to move his face. Last night had been a success and he had celebrated accordingly hoping to drown out the voice in his head that went on and on about preparing lambs for the slaughter.

"I'm as composed as I'm ever gonna be. What can I do for you, Gamemaker Crane?" he answered, trying not to sound as sarcastic as he felt. It didn't matter how much he hated Crane and the other gamemakers and officials, anything other than obsequiousness would hurt his mentees and, more importantly, him.

"You're going to arrange a meeting for me with your female tribute this evening," he said casually as if there was nothing surprising about his demand.

Haymitch was speechless for a moment as he tried to process what Crane was asking of him. It wasn't possible. He'd been around long enough to have heard about the unofficial prostitution that took place during the games but he never thought he'd have to pimp out his own tributes. Everyone knew that the tributes from Districts one and two spent their days before the games training and their nights trading sexual favors for sponsor gifts. But the officials and sponsors never wanted to play their sex games with the tributes from the poor districts thinking them rough, dirty and uncouth, barely a step above animals. He must be misunderstanding because not only was the implication that someone wanted to use Katniss for sex but that that someone was the Head Gamemaker. Gamemakers were not, to his knowledge, allowed to avail themselves of this secret sex trade. He knew he had to play this very carefully. He would have killed for a drink.

"Forgive my ignorance but isn't it highly unusual for a gamemaker to meet with a tribute prior to the games?" He wanted to puke and not from too much alcohol. Unusual...more like forbidden and dangerous. In fact, he wondered just how much trouble they were both going to be in once this call was discovered by Capitol security monitors. None of this made sense.

Seneca scoffed at his attempt at diplomacy and replied, "While I appreciate your attempt at deference, I'd hate for you to choke on it before I get what I want so let's dispense with the false pleasantries and be clear, shall we?"

"Before we do that why don't you tell me what's to keep the security monitors from sending Peacekeepers to arrest us both for having this conversation?"

"Do I strike you as the type of man who would risk getting caught in the middle of an illegal communication?"

"No, but then you don't strike me as the type of man to risk everything to get a piece of District 12 ass either and yet, here we are." Haymitch knew that if they were being monitored he'd just gone way too far but he assumed by Crane's statement that he'd somehow taken the security monitors out of the equation.

Crane's voice was icy when he replied and Haymitch was struck by the notion that this cold, deadly serious man was the real Seneca Crane, not the pretty boy celebrity he played to everyone else.

"I know a lot of people, Haymitch, people who owe me favors, people who want very much to stay in my good graces. As far as the security monitors are concerned this call isn't happening. All they can see or hear at the moment is you still lying in your own drool sleeping off last night's drink. Now, let's discuss what it is I want from you."

Haymitch sighed in resignation. As if sending these kids to certain death weren't bad enough, now he was going to have to send Katniss off to sell her body to this effete prick. He wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. He wanted to tear him apart with his bare hands. But the reality was he couldn't do a goddamned thing and neither could Katniss. The Capitol owned them all.

There wasn't enough liquor in the world to numb the churning in his gut at the thought of what this would do to a proud girl like Katniss. He tried not to care but something about her impressed him, shamed him and made him want to be better, made him want to take some pride in himself. She didn't understand that he was what he was because of what he'd lost and what he'd done, watching helplessly for years as kids like her were murdered. Now he'd have to stand by as she lost her innocence in another way. That spark of defiant pride that made her special would no doubt be dead by morning after Crane had his way with her.

"Why her?" Haymitch asked his voice sounding as weary as his soul felt.

The answer was slow in coming. Haymitch hoped for a moment that the gamemaker had changed his mind then came three mocking, precise words.

"Because I can."

Haymitch slumped down, defeated, no choice left but to accept the unstoppable.

Crane's voice continued quickly, impatient to be finished. "Make sure she's in her quarters tonight at 8:00pm and that everyone else is in theirs. It would be... unseemly to have an audience I think." He spoke as if it was nothing, like he was discussing table settings or the fit of his clothes.

His voice full of futility, Haymitch made one last effort to deter him."She'll fight you, you know."

"Oh, I'm counting on it," Crane replied with a smile in his voice.

He sounded like a man in the throes of an explicit daydream and Haymitch had to grit his teeth at the stab of impotent hatred that flashed through him with no outlet. With no other option but to turn it inward, he let it settle into him. He thought to himself that it would simply help prepare him for the loathing he would see in Katniss's eyes when he told her later in the day how her evening would end.

With a light and airy tone Crane dismissed him, "Well, that's it then. I'll let you get a head start on what is sure to be a big day. Your cooperation is ever appreciated."

The com panel went dark and Haymitch reached for the half-empty bottle on the nightstand. As he guzzled from it he imagined the conversation he had to have with Katniss and wished for oblivion harder than he ever had in his wasted life. When it hadn't come after fifteen minutes and half a bottle of alcohol, he heaved himself out of the bed and headed to the shower. There was nothing to do but keep going.


	4. Chapter 4

Katniss watched Haymitch as he staggered into breakfast. She'd been trying to get along with him and conceal the contempt she felt for him because Peeta was right. He was all they had. She supposed he might have some advice worth listening to eventually. She couldn't help herself this morning though. The sneer she felt spread across her face was uncontrollable. She had thought him weak and pathetic since she first laid eyes on him. The scent of booze rolling off him this early in the morning just reinforced that opinion. She turned away from him in ill-disguised disgust as he sat down.

"Good morning, Haymitch," Peeta said in a hesitant but cheerful voice.

Katniss wanted to roll her eyes at Peeta's naive optimism...or was it calculated brown-nosing? She didn't trust anyone at this point, couldn't trust anyone, not if she wanted to maintain even a shred of hope of returning to her sister. She studied Peeta's face trying to divine the truth behind his tone. What she noticed instead was Haymitch's demeanor. His usual tactic for dealing with her disapproval was to be in her face and completely unapologetic for his drunken apathy. Today he was subdued to say the least. He kept his eyes downcast as he grunted at Peeta. She narrowed her eyes as she watched him and wondered what this change in behavior meant and if it was tied to the fact that this was their first group training day. The sudden fear she felt at that thought made her hand tremble and she immediately forced herself to convert it to anger. She had no choice but to lash out if she wanted to maintain her sanity.

"Well, so much for you staying sober enough to be of any use to us whatsoever," she looked at Haymitch waiting for his reaction.

Instead of answering her immediately with some sarcastic retort that ended with him calling her sweetheart, he seemed to tuck his head down even more. Then he reached for his coffee taking two giant swallows of the scalding drink before refilling the cup from his flask. Only after he had finished the cup did he look up in response to her words.

Katniss was taken aback by the emptiness she saw in his eyes. She had a momentary flare of compassion which she ruthlessly quashed. Whatever demons harassed Haymitch were mostly of his own making she was certain. Life was hard for everyone she knew but they kept going. Haymitch had given up a long time ago.

Haymitch studied her face for several moments, everyone else at the table silent and wary of another blow out brewing between the two. Finally he sighed deeply and replied, "Don't you worry, sweetheart. I know what I have to do and I'll do it."

Katniss held his eyes a few moments longer wondering why his statement struck her as ominous. When she realized she would get nothing from him but weary resignation, she looked away. They ate in silence for several minutes. It was all Katniss could do just to keep her body under control with the adrenaline that was coursing through her system. She was anxious about group training today. She had no idea what to expect and she was tired from lack of sleep.

A feeling like panic welled up inside her. It was the same feeling she felt the moment after Prim's name was called at the reaping. As the feeling threatened to overwhelm her, she remembered something her father told her when he was teaching her to hunt. The first several times she'd fired her arrows they'd flown wide and missed though she'd aimed just as she'd been taught. Sensing her growing frustration her father had sat her down and explained about the rush that came with spotting prey and how it could both help and hurt you.

"How do you feel, Katniss, when you first spot the animal and pull back your arrow to take aim?" his gentle voice still conjureable in her memory.

"Excited," she answered with a child's lack of insight.

"And what else? Think hard," he prompted.

"My heart beats fast and I want to gasp but I know I can't or I'll scare the animals away and then I feel scared." Her father smiled at her and she smiled back pleased that she seemed to have given him the answer he wanted.

"That rush you feel is good because it can heighten your senses if you know how to channel it. If you don't use it properly, however, it will make you clumsy and then it will feed upon itself until you panic and, in this case, miss your target when you shouldn't." He tapped her on the nose and winked at her.

"But how can I control it?" she asked thinking it impossible to control her body's instincts.

"When you feel the rush, close your eyes, take one deep breath, feel the fear and the panic and the excitement for only as long as it takes you to count to five and then let it go and focus. Never give your nerves or fear more time than that or they will control you." After that she had hit everything she'd aimed at for the rest of the day.

Letting go of the memory, Katniss now did as her father had taught her. She was able to calm her heart and beat back the anxious feeling that had threatened to overwhelm her. The calm power she felt as she breathed through the count to five was what she knew she had to maintain now until this was all over. She resolved again to stay in control and take things as they came from now on with a cool head and to think rather than react. She realized that Haymitch had started speaking about training and she was missing it.

Katniss listened as Haymitch explained how the group training sessions would go and was surprised that his advice about holding back until the individual session actually made sense. Maybe he wasn't a total lost cause after all. She still didn't like him but as long as his advice seemed reasonable she would follow it. She looked around as her breakfast companions began to leave the table and reaffirmed her commitment to herself. They might all try to help but at the end of the day she was the one who would walk into the arena and have to kill or be killed. She would do whatever it took to keep herself alive.

She glanced once more at Haymitch as she headed toward her room to change into her training clothes. As soon as his eyes met hers he looked away. His demeanor this morning still troubled her but she would have to ponder it later. Now she needed to clear her head and prepare herself to spend the day in close quarters with the other tributes.


	5. Chapter 5

Seneca had been anxious all morning. He had thought that knowing that a meeting with the girl he reluctantly admitted to himself he was obsessed with would alleviate some of his nervous energy. It hadn't. If anything he was even more on edge trying to find ways to occupy his mind until this evening. The anticipation of finally being alone with her was becoming too much. When he found himself nervously tapping his ring on his desk and bouncing his leg for the fifth time that morning he knew he had to do something about it. He needed to be in control tonight when he saw her not strung out from an all day adrenaline rush. That's how he found himself entering the observation balcony of the training center surprising the other officials with his presence just minutes before the tributes arrived.

Normally he would not appear in person on the first day. In years past he let the other gamemakers evaluate the tributes on the first day without feeling pressured to dazzle him with their observations. He secretly despised the ass-kissing that was as valuable as currency in the Capitol but he could not avoid it altogether. The required exchange of inane pleasantries was particularly intolerable at the moment when all he wanted to do was take a seat at the front so he could see her as soon as she walked in. He needed to see...he wasn't sure what. That she was real? Maybe.

He was barely able to run the gauntlet of overly-enthusiastic greetings and exclamations of surprise at his unexpected appearance before he lost control of himself and snapped at someone. He wasn't even sure what excuse he'd made for breaking his own rule and appearing today, some stupid comment like he wanted to keep them on their toes. The others would all laugh even though it wasn't funny, tempting him to punch the fake smiles and glitter off their faces.

As he stood there, finally somewhat alone at the front of the balcony, he took a moment to compose himself. He wondered what exactly it was that suddenly had him struggling to maintain his carefully crafted facade of the quintessential Capitol citizen who happily played along. He suspected, of course, that it was this girl even though he despised giving her that much credit. All the more reason to get her out of his system. These feelings and this lack of control were unwanted and dangerous.

His inner musings were interrupted by the sound of the training facility door opening and the arrival of the tributes. The chattering of his fellow officials tapered off as they all took a moment to observe the tributes and comment quietly amongst themselves.

His attention was immediately drawn to her. His entire being focused on her to the exclusion of everything else around him. He cataloged everything he could observe about her, the confident yet easy way she carried herself, the way she subtly yet thoroughly sized up her competition. He admired her height and found her body graceful and arousing.

He mused that this was the third Katniss he'd seen so far. First had been the terrified but determined and brave, rustic girl who had captivated him at the reaping. Next had been the breathtaking girl who had surprised him with her beauty and regal bearing during the Opening Ceremonies. Cinna had brought out the beauty that had only been hinted at before. Today she looked like a warrior. She carried herself with a quiet confidence and a remoteness that he could see was unnerving the boastful, swaggering tributes from Districts one and two.

He almost forgot how young she was because of the way she held herself. He thought somewhere in the back of his mind that he should perhaps be concerned about her youth but that voice was easily silenced once her eyes met his. He recognized in her the premature aging of the soul that happens to children in the outer districts. His eyes used to look like that, still did at times when he let his facade slip. Some of them aged before their time and were broken by it but a few of them, like himself and like her eventually, were able to take in the things that stole their innocence and stoke them into a fire that kept them going even as they froze their emotions, their empathy and compassion. He felt a momentary pang of regret when he considered how the games were about to change her but then banished it. There was no use lamenting things that could not be changed.

He could not look away and neither, it seemed, could she. What passed between them when they locked eyes was a soul-deep recognition even if neither one of them consciously acknowledged it. He looked into her eyes and saw his younger, unspoiled self staring back at him and all he wanted to do was embrace it and then smother it. Then she licked her lips. All other thoughts fled his mind as he trance-like traced the path of her tongue over his own lips with his thumb. He was simply looking at a beautiful young woman who made him want more than anything to feel that tongue on his lips, his body. His urge to possess her was stronger than ever.

Something drew her attention then and she broke away from his gaze. He saw that her chest rose and fell too quickly, her breathing heavy and uneven. He smirked at that. He'd done nothing by coming here but make his desire more acute but at least he knew she was not unaffected by him. That knowledge could well come in handy later tonight. Knowledge of an adversary was always worth having no matter the price. That simple thought kept him sane and calm as he engaged in small talk with the other gamemakers and then through the rest of his tedious day.


	6. Chapter 6

Katniss felt eyes on her as soon as she walked into the training facility. The feeling was so intense that she stopped and scanned the other tributes to see who was watching her so closely. She was more than a little confused to see that none of them were overtly staring at her. Her instincts had never been wrong before. She tried to shake it off as left over nerves from earlier this morning as she gathered around the head trainer with the others.

As the woman explained to them what the training would consist of over the next four days, Katniss still couldn't dispel the feeling of being studied. She had glimpsed the balcony when she entered just enough to know there were people up there, gamemakers she assumed. She decided the watcher must be one of them.

Growing angry at the distraction and unease it was causing her she swung her head around suddenly and pinned her gaze on the man staring at her. Despite her resolve to always appear calm and detached she couldn't help the gasp that escaped her when she realized the man staring at her was none other than Seneca Crane. He must have noticed how his gaze had unsettled her but he gave no sign of it instead he continued to study her with a singular intensity that made her heart pound and her breathing irregular.

Her eyes remained locked with his as she felt anxiety flood her body. As she began to count to five she licked her lips nervously. She lost count when his eyes shifted to her mouth and she watched as he rubbed his thumb along his chin and then over his bottom lip as if he were imagining her tongue on his own mouth. She was shocked by the way that thought made her feel. It excited her and she despised herself for it. She wanted to look away, to escape the startling beauty of his deep blue eyes. She couldn't move and she thought this must be what it feels like to be prey, to be stalked by a hunter like herself. Her mind rebelled at that though. There was nothing in her that was similar to this man, nothing.

His eyes pinned her again and she felt scorched. Not only was he more handsome in person than on TV, but she could tell he was much more dangerous. And the danger wasn't because he was the head gamemaker and held her fate in his hands. No, the danger was in what he was making her feel, the ruthless determination she sensed beneath his shallow facade, and the undisguised hunger she saw in his eyes. This was the man she had vowed she would make notice her? Who she wanted to punish for not taking her and the other tributes seriously? Well, she thought with false bravado, it looks like he's noticed me. Now I just have to find a way to punish him. She would have laughed at herself if she wasn't filled with too much fear to even appreciate the gallows humor.

"Katniss!" Peeta's worried voice interrupted her thoughts.

"What?" she demanded, turning to look at him, breaking her connection with Crane.

"We have to pick a training station. Haymitch told us to stick together, remember?"

"Yeah, of course. You pick first," she replied quickly, still unnerved by what had passed between she and head gamemaker.

"Let's try the fire starting station, OK?" Peeta looked at her with concern and some confusion. "Are you alright? You seem kinda out of it."

"I'm fine, Peeta. Let's go," she snapped.

She immediately felt bad for her tone and gave Peeta a half smile to reassure him, not wanting him to question her further about her behavior. He smiled back at her oblivious to her unrest and began walking towards the training area.

Katniss couldn't stop herself from glancing over her shoulder once more. She saw that Seneca Crane was no longer looking at any of them. He and the other officials were chatting and ignoring what was happening on the training floor. She might have tried to convince herself she had imagined the whole episode but the feeling was still too fresh. She knew there was some unspoken communication between she and he but she had no idea what it signified. She did her best then to put it out of her mind and concentrate on the training that would help her survive. She refused to look up at him again and before she knew it, she was absorbed in training and she had put him out of her mind.

As the first day of training came to an end and Katniss was no longer occupied with survival skills or weapons training, she couldn't help but think of him again. Her eyes wandered to the balcony as she and the other tributes filed out. It was empty and she wondered when he and the other officials had left. As Peeta talked about what they had learned that day, she pictured Crane again in her mind . She made halfhearted responses to Peeta but she was really thinking about Seneca Crane's thumb as it slowly rubbed his full bottom lip. She couldn't understand why he fascinated her so when all she wanted to do was hate him.

Thoughts of him stayed with her as she showered and prepared for dinner. Those eyes of his appeared and held her in thrall every time she closed her own. Maybe she should mention the encounter to Haymitch, but then, what was the point? She knew she would have no one-on-one contact with any of the gamemakers which was a relief. No, there was no need to mention it to anyone. It wasn't even worth thinking about anymore. She _needed_ to not think of it anymore.

She concentrated very hard during dinner to think about what she'd learned that day but she couldn't ignore the troubling sense of disappointment she felt every time she reminded herself she would never actually be in a position to speak to Seneca Crane. She was so distracted by her thoughts that she somehow missed everyone else finishing their meals and leaving for their quarters. When she was finally able to stop thinking about him long enough to take in her surroundings, she found herself at the table with just Haymitch for company. She doubted she could sleep at 7:00 even as tired as she was but she didn't want to spend time with Haymitch either. She made to leave the table, mumbling goodnight and hoping to get away quickly.

She noted that Haymitch seemed twitchier than usual but didn't stop to ponder it as she tried to hurry away. She was nearly free when Haymitch's voice, tired but serious, made her escape impossible. She turned to look at him and the pained expression on his face brought back the same feeling of unease she'd felt at his words earlier that morning. He sighed and Katniss's stomach dropped in apprehension.

"We need to talk, Katniss."


End file.
